For Whom We Serve
by The Prophet Lemonade
Summary: Lan Fan questions what her master truly is to her, as they return to Xing, succeeding the events of the Promised Day. He is a King, who lives for his people. That fact is fundamental. LINFAN


**Author's Note: So, FMA ended! It was rather a good ending, don't you think? Well, except for the distinct lack of Royai or LinFan… heck, I forgot to write anything for Royai Day as well. Oh well, have some of this instead; my new favourite pairing. Just a quick warning for spoilers for chapter 108!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the amazing Fullmetal Alchemist; the best manga series ever!**

**Title: For Whom We Serve**

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"The kid is asleep?"

It was an observation, a simple statement, to break the silence that consumed their tent. Though night had fallen, the air remained muggy and stiflingly warm, as only found in the desert that stretched between the two great nations of Xing and Amestris. There was no sign of a breeze to relieve the heat; the canvas tent hung limply from its metal supports, unmoving, due to its treatment in excessive amounts of starch and salt.

Lan Fan looked up from where she was oiling her metal arm, her robotic joints creaking with protest as she did so. The carbon-enforced steel did not take highly to the extreme conditions, and she admitted it drained her energy resources considerably, though she would never think of voicing her opinions. Her young master was crouched over their third companion; the heiress of the Chang clan, who they were accompanying back to Xing.

The child was small, her raven bangs plastered to her forehead in a light sheen of perspiration; she barely came up to Lan Fan's elbow when she stood, yet the Xingese assassin could so easily recall the events of the Promised Day, not one week ago, but also a life time ago. How such power came from one so small – it eluded her.

"She is probably exhausted," Lan Fan stated, her dark eyes boring into the bare back of her master; the warmth within their tent was causing her to sweat slightly, though she would never think of removing one layer of her clothing or armour; it might be the only thing between herself and death one day. Ling's muscular shoulders were silhouetted against the few lanterns they possessed, and she found herself admiring his frame. He looked stronger and more toned than when she had last seen him in such proximity; that fact brought a blush to her cheeks.

"Yeah, you're probably right," the Prince shrugged. "But still, sending a child out to do your bidding… what was her clan thinking?" He cocked his head to one side, like a dog might, lost in his thoughts for some many moments. Lan Fan had noticed he had kept to himself more often since their departure from the battle field; she longed to know what plagued him constantly, but without his permission to ask, she felt it was not her place to intervene.

"Young Master was only fifteen when we arrived in Amestris. Most would consider someone of that age to be a child," she murmured then, her words barely audible; he heard her though, and turned to look at his Xingese companion, slanted eyes unreadable.

"Do you think I am a child?" he said, his voice suddenly husky. The hairs on the back of Lan Fan's neck stood on end, and she felt an alien tingle ripple down her spine. It was the truth; she was two years his senior, and, at the time, she had prided herself in being the one more knowledgeable, the one who was there to guide him in his quest for immortality. But, a lot had happened since then.

"I'm going to be Emperor, you know," Ling continued, not waiting for her response. He stood, his full height now skimming the roof of the tent, and took a few, almost tentative steps towards where Lan Fan was crouched on the dusty floor, tending to her automail. "When we get back to Xing, I will be made Emperor, now that we have the Philosopher's Stone. It's inevitable really; the old geezer is just greedy like that. He wants all that's coming to him."

He sat down beside her, bare arms grazing her cotton-covered ones; the intimacy burned Lan Fan's cheeks, and she had to look away, so that her body would not betray her any further. There was no sound, unless silence possessed sound, for her ears were feeling deafened from the all enveloping quiet; even his slow breaths felt faint beside her.

"I don't care," she whispered, almost mutely, well aware that, somewhere, her grandfather would be scolding her for speaking out of line. "…That the Young Master is going to be Emperor, that is." She bowed her head into the worn cotton of her collar, her ebony bangs falling across her brow, shielding her face from his prying eyes.

He appeared genuinely curious, staring intently at his aid and her openly honest thoughts on the matters at hand. It was incredibly rare that she spoke so freely, especially concerning her own emotions; Ling had always considered those to be things she kept a tightly sealed away; a faucet that could not be turned.

"I'm intrigued, Lan Fan. Please, continue."

Bravely, she moved her dark eyes to meet his eager ones, and instantly regretted opening her mouth. She cursed herself inwardly, realizing she had now dug herself a large, inescapable hole.

"It's nothing, honestly," she squeaked, her reddened face drawing a smile from her Young Master. "I shouldn't have opened my mouth. Please forgive my incompetence."

Ling's face quickly fell, as did something inside him; he was left feeling somewhat disappointed, when he had been so close to her revealing her innermost feelings to him. He let a soft sigh escaped his thin lips, and lay back, stretching his arms above his head, so that his stare was directed at the beige canopy of the tent.

"'S'okay," he muttered, "There's no need to apologize, Lan Fan. Not after everything that we've been through." He had been hoping that their relationship had taken a step forward in the past months, but, apparently, she was not as earnest as him to breech that final gap between their professional relationship and something akin to what he wanted. After much deliberation, he put it down to Greed. She had obviously not yet forgiven him for accepting the Homunculus, however much she insisted that she didn't care; she had said that it was her duty to protect his body, and that was all that there was to the situation.

"What would it take to make you tell me?" he inquired, reciting his thoughts aloud, until he realized he was speaking, and then it was too late to retrieve those words. He rolled over onto his side, supporting his head in his palm, so that he had a better view of her face. "Well, Lan Fan?"

She pretended to busy herself with her arm, tweaking the odd screw here and there, and wiping at the scuffs on the metal, if only to throw off his further questioning. His gaze was unrelenting; it was apparent that this was an order, and not a request.

"I…" she began, swallowing loudly, to clear her throat. "It's just that I… I don't care if Young Master becomes Emperor or not… it doesn't change anything for me. I still intend to serve…" She trailed off, unsure of where her ramblings might take her; she looked to Ling for support, to only be greeted by a comforting grin. Timidly, she added a few more words. "Young Master… may not be a child anymore, but he does not need to be the Emperor of Xing either, for me at least. Young Master will always be Young Master."

With his free hand, Ling reached up to cup her pinkened face in his palm; this action only made Lan Fan blush even more profusely. She had expected his fingers to feel calloused and rough, as in the dreams she dared not confess to, but his touch was pleasantly cool and soothing on her face; she felt herself relax towards his body.

"I'll be whoever you want me to be," he murmured, returning to a sitting position as his arm began to grow numb and cramped. "I am nothing but a man at this moment in time."

Lan Fan welcomed her master's embrace thoroughly; too many years had she been waiting for his permission, and it was greatly received. She nuzzled towards his chest, only wanting his scent to consume and saturate her, for his arms to encircle her entire being and never let go. It surprised Ling how small she seemed beside him, and how he never had noticed how fragile a person she was, far more delicate that he ever remembered. Both relished in the moment, where social class could not divide them any longer; they were not a master and his servant, instead just friends, and simply that.

He might have been a child once, and soon to be the Emperor of Xing. He might have been a man, but above all, he was a King.

A King who lived only for his people.

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